Ankyra Sound rock and roll could be your savior

As per Kjalarr's typical routines he found himself patrolling the borders in the night, though close to the cusp of dawn. Already, the sky was beginning to lighten though he had a few hours still until the sun would actually rise into the skyline. The moon offered little in the way of light, expect for the small patches when it would be free from the thick dark clouds that obscured it as they skittered their way across the velveteen darkness of the sky that stretched, endlessly before him. The gentle lull of the ocean in the shortened distance was nothing short of a comforting sound to the Loðbrok. It had been a long time since he'd been around it so consistently, and he found that he enjoyed living on the coast the most. It was where he'd been born and it was where he felt the most comfortable. Some feared the incredible power of the enigmatic sea but he found a strength in it, as unpredictable as it was. It had nearly killed him once, when he'd dove into it in a moment of nothing but flight or fight instincts to escape the gaping and hungry jaws of the (first) bear he'd encountered, yet it had spit him back up, albeit barely clinging to life, on this very shore. 

In that of itself he felt a connection to the Sound, though he could not find words to put together to explain it; and thus far he found himself enjoying Saltwinter greatly, though he had yet to officially meet his pack mates. It was true the only one he knew was their alpha female and not very well at that but he respected her in a way he could never make himself respect Charon, though there had been too much bad blood between the two young males at the word get-go. It was a relationship doomed to fail from the very start, and despite that they were angry with him (again it was nothing new to Kjalarr) he felt free in a way he'd never felt in Moonspear under the heavy scrutiny of a family that claimed he wasn't even one of them. They were right. None of them were true Loðbroks. His twin was a blind sheep, and Charon was a false Loðbrok only out of Ragnar and Thistle's pity, at that; at least this is what Kjalarr chose to believe of them.

Soon hardened earth gave way to the soft, cool sands of the shore and he found himself pausing to take in the sight of the monochrome ocean, it's waves crashing upon the shore in high tide, frothing with foam and tendrils of seaweed that washed up and remained upon the wet sand even as the waves receded. It felt like home.

CRASH SMASH BOOM hi idk if this ruins my timeline but WHO CAREs!!!

under the swath of pale moonlight the sylph picked her way delicately along the flotsam. some wrinkled seaweed ahead caught her eye and the angled coywolf stalked stiffly towards the lump with her narrow muzzle lowered in curiosity. a brief inspection of the limp kelp yielded nothing and the wretch swung back down the strand in a prowling trot. ahead a shadow spilled along the strand, accompanied by a pale wolf caiaphas immediately identified as kjalarr. saying nothing the siren pulled alongside him, her cold gaze resting on the distant waves as they trashed just beyond their reach.

yay~, ty for joining! :D i tried to be vague b/c i wasn't sure where it fit into kja's either, lmao soo it's fair game for the timeline(s). :P

He was momentarily memorized by the powerful crash and recede of the waves, admiring the sea for everything it was worth, having felt that power as it tossed him to and fro thrumming against and through him as if he was nothing more than a rag doll; as to which it had just as ungracefully dumped him upon this very shore. It was weird to walk this very beach where he'd been washed up on so many months ago. When he'd first felt these sands beneath him it had been beneath a battered and malnourished, very small body. His paws were at least twice the size of what they'd been, if not bigger; and beyond that the man he had become was very different from the boy that had been left behind here. It had been horrific and traumatic for him but Kjalarr had learned many life lessons from all that had transpired. Many had been painful, a reality he hadn't wanted to face but had been forced to. He had been molded from them, tempered like a battle axe to the will and flame of the very Gods themselves.

So lost in his thoughts, in the mental comparisons he had zoned out on what was going on around him, beyond the waves he made an effort to avoid as they threatened to creep ever closer with every crash upon the shore that he entirely missed Caiaphas' approach until she was beside him. Even then she was a blob of a shadow caught out of the corner of his eye. Unexpected as her presence was he gave a small start. He took a quick gasp of a breath and let out his nerves in a small chuckle. “You startled me,” He informed her, though it felt redundant for she'd more than likely noticed. “What's up?” He asked her, being sure to lower his posture to one of as much submission as he could while walking. It was true that he had reached the point in which it was less of a patrol and more of a leisurely jog but it felt nice to “exercise”.

wordlessly the two flanked each other and caiaphas assumed he had seen her -- that was, until his frame jolted forward in surprise. she too redacted, springing back in the manner of a startled fox. her composure was quickly recollected and she cut the stavanger-born a strange look. he seemed to regain his own mein and for a moment she studied his pale cheeks before speaking. "ah well, the moon -- the stars -- the tide." she answered, shrugging her thin shoulders before stalking forward through the seafoam. "what about you?"

It was clear that Caiaphas hadn't been expecting him to be startled by her presence for she, too, gave a start when he did, and offered him a strange look that Kjalarr caught but did not capitalize upon it. He didn't want to speak about his monochromacy and that even in the cover of night when he could see the best he would ever be able to see things were still lacking detail at times; and beyond that mostly he'd been entirely zoned out, so very much wrapped up in his thoughts. Her response made the Loðbrok let out a soft snort and a playful roll of his eyes as she literally named what was up. He let out a low chuckle at her literal answer to his choice to inquire about her well being in slang. “I'm pretty sure you've covered everything,” He teased, letting his gaze settle on the path that stretched out what seemed to be endlessly before them.

“but if you are asking about how I'm doing then I'm good.” Better than he'd been in a very long time, at least, and that stood for something. Things were still unsettled and the anger would still linger, but he had came to realize that his family might hate and be disappointed in him but he had done what he needed to do for himself; and if they wished to hold that against him then it was better they were gone from his life. “So, how are you?” He inquired, being more specific this time, letting his gaze touch her as he awaited her response, though he kept his eyes lowered, respectful of her rank and in acknowledgment of his own.

unfortunately for kjalarr, caiaphas tended to be a dry study. her gaze trailed from the moon to its reflection on the shimmering sea and for a moment she said nothing. kjalarr continued, indicating he was good -- a sharp turnaround from his demeanor the last time they had spoken. she (annoyingly) deflected his inquiry by immediately honing on what he had spoken. "good? is ankyra treating you well.. or is it something else?" the savage leveled her gaze on the alabaster wolf, her brilliant tourmaline gaze seeking to pry all that she could from his countenance.

It did not surprise to Kjalarr when she did not immediately seek to respond to his question, instead appearing to favor what he'd spoken before his question to her. This wasn't exactly something new with their interactions, and Kjalarr didn't really think much on it other than to consider that maybe she didn't like talking about herself; and as narcissistic as it was Kjalarr could not claim that he didn't like to talk about himself — because he did. He tried not to be obnoxious about it, and didn't think he was the greatest thing to grace the earth — as it stood his borderline self destructive thoughts tended to cancel any hauteur of those levels. He was a moderate narcissist confident but could be humble when it was required of him. Not in all cases, of course, but generally he kept up a balance.

For a moment, he contemplated her questionings, wondering what made her so willing to pry. Most wolves would accept what he'd spoken as an acceptable answer without requiring an explanation. He turned his responses over in his head as they walked, for a moment losing himself in the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves against the shore, the water rushing towards them and receding just as rapidly. “Of course Ankyra Sound is treating me well,” He broke his silence. It was honest — thus far he had no reason not to love every moment he spent in the Sound. He only hated that his decision to do what was best for him likely drove a fissure between the fragile relationships he'd managed to build with his mother and twin. But what was he supposed to do? Expose his belly and pretend to be something he wasn't just so it would appease Lord Asshole? Kjalarr wasn't really the submissive type, though he had no qualms about showing proper submission to Caiaphas or Vlad, or any of the wolves of a higher rank to him in Saltwinter ...which only went to prove Kjalarr's belief that Charon was a shit hole “brother” and even worse leader.

Kjalarr had only to assume that Charon's biggest problem with him was that he stood up to him and thus, Charon felt threatened by him. There was no proof of this other than the proof Kjalarr chose to gather; but it didn't matter anyway. Nothing anyone could ever say to him would ever change his mind on it. “I'm glad to free of the dickhead that calls himself king of Moonspear,” Kjalarr let out a low, mirthless chuckle coupled with a rise and fall of his shoulders in a casual shrug; nevertheless he was quick to let it drop not wanting thoughts of Charon to ruin his good mood. “I'm glad to be here, and I've begun to put all that drama behind me.” And embrace whatever future the Gods had planned for him.

she was pleased to learn kjalarr had found his tenure in ankyra hospitable -- while the ragtag band was anything but friendly, caiaphas had learned to identify the camaraderie that each individual occasionally displayed. their pack was far from traditional -- there were days when she scarcely encountered a single soul on the strand. "that's good." she inferred -- not just that he was here, but that he was free of this 'charon' and whatever influence had bound him to the mysterious male. "where is moonspear anyway?"

For a moment there was silence between them, and it was comfortable as they walked, though without borders to patrol the purpose was sort of lost on the wind that carried the sticky and salty brine of the sea as it wove through the tendrils of his platinum silver fur. Eventually, they would walk to the other side of the shore, to where their borders would begin once more. His alpha broke the silence with another question, inquiring about where Moonspear was located. “It's south of us, between the Altar of Twilight and Silverlight Terrace, right across from Ouroboros Spine,” Kjalarr told her freely. He didn't have any reason to question her inquiry and frankly, didn't really care what she did with the information. Charon thought he was some great jarl — the thought left quite the sour taste in Kjalarr's mouth who knew the last great Jarl that these Wilds saw was Ragnar not some little man child — then surely he could be a real man and deal with some shit on his borders. “For a while I considered being an Outrider so I know the path well.” He informed her with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He wanted to see Charon fail, he wanted to see him fall off his pedestal and crumble so that Floki, Wildfire and Thistle could see him for what he really was: a monster of their own creation. A child playing the game of thrones at being King, but Charon wasn't his concern anymore Kjalarr told himself. He was Moonspear's demon to deal with.

Kjalarr knew he needed to let the grudge go but that was so much easier said than done and it was likely that it would never dissipate. Nevertheless he shoved his grudge and horrible thoughts to some dark corner of his mind, inhaling the scent of the saltwater, sharp and tangy. The scent of home. It helped to clear his mind, and thus Kjalarr made himself to focus upon it.

while caiaphas' intentions were sheathed, she had no plan as of yet to launch some great campaign upon moonspear. had she known charon's true identity perhaps she would have been more vigilant -- for now she was content simply to know. it had always been her belief that those that existed without her knowledge existed without her consent -- now that she knew of the pack, perhaps she could be prepared for whatever strife may possibly come their way.

her ear flickered as he mentioned ouroboros spine -- it had been a long time since she had visited those spires and silently she wondered after those she had known in the depths of the mountain. "an outrider is a worthy pursuit." the siren queen replied fluidly, white water breaching along her slender limbs in gusseted foam waves. "and it is better, i think, to know of things before they know of you."

Kjalarr was silent; it was a contemplative silence, when Caiaphas offered her opinion on the outrider trade. She thought that it was a trade that held worth, even offered an explanation as to why she thought that. Kjalarr agreed, trying to remember why he'd forgone the trade when it sated his natural curiosity and desire to traverse. Knowledge was power; was that not why Odin had given his eye for it? What was Kjalarr willing to give for it? Anything? As his father before him? He could not immediately say; neither did he have much of an idea why he'd chosen hunting instead. Hunting and guarding borders was something they could all do, and was expected of them naturally: to survive and ensure their survival.

“I agree,” Kjalarr responded after a few more moments of thoughtful quietude. “My father believed that knowledge was power and that it could tip the balance in one's favor,” It was a worthy pursuit, indeed. “If you need an outrider I will gladly fill the role and earn the trade,” Kjalarr offered, having come to a decision. Perhaps he would earn it anyway, even if Caiaphas had no immediate use of it. “I don't even remember why I decided to go with hunting instead.” Kjalarr gave a shake of his head, though for the most part, he was mostly murmuring to himself, as if he spoke it out loud he might have a better job of remembering the answer. Whatever the reason that had caused him to switch trades while in Moonspear, it hardly mattered anymore. He wasn't apart of Moonspear and had no intentions of ever returning, thus any decisions he'd made while apart of their ranks did not need to be held to here in Saltwinter.

caiaphas easily would have given an eye for knowledge -- specifically, a thousand eyes -- of any and every living thing that possibly got in her way. that snakish reason was one of the first reasons caiaphas had considered the outrider co-rank -- like kjalarr, she derived a certain enjoyment from the trade. "we can do so together -- there's packs around us we should probably investigate."and kill, the little savage thought inwardly. kjalarr's quickness to commit made the feral siren wonder if she should have stolen him alongside kevlyn that fateful and cheerless spring morning. she turned her sharp muzzle to him as he murmured alongside her and a smile split her lips as she laughed: "why, to eat, of course."

There was a slight start of surprise within Kjalarr when Caiaphas suggested that they could go on outrider ventures together, reminding him of an offer he'd once made his identical twin — though identical was something of a stretch these days. The three scars that marred Kjalarr's muzzle marked them as different, though their personalities had done that well enough; but aside from the obvious ugly scars upon his muzzle he was taller than Floki, maybe bigger in general, too. Though he did not know it he was cut from the same mold of his father and grandfather before him: chiseled, tall and broad. With a similar suggestion being made to him he thought back upon it and when he felt a sliver of guilt pushed it forcibly away. Floki had made his choices, and Kjalarr had made his; and as far as Kjalarr cared he didn't owe them anything, neither did he have to feel bad for burning a path that was not made for him.

“Of course,” Kjalarr accepted as they moved, taking a mental note that this was the first time she'd really spoken a good deal to him. She struck him as a quiet woman, not one of many words. She was unlike any woman he'd ever met, and he liked that. He enjoyed the enigma she presented him, though he was content to allow the mystery to linger. He did not deign to unravel her, instead basking in the challenges she threw his way. Kjalarr liked her, even if he could not say that he knew his alpha female that well. “Just say when and I will gladly venture out with you.” It probably wasn't needed, his acceptance had said enough, but he felt the need to clarify just in case, regardless of if it was unnecessary.

He glimpsed at her from the corner of an glacier colored eye, her dark muzzle bearing her smile as she laughed responding to his self meant murmur. A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat, as he marveled briefly over the fact that he was pretty sure it was the first time he heard her laugh. “Perhaps,” Kjalarr allowed with small dip of his head and a slight flick of his tail, a small wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Or perhaps I hungered for the power it gave me.” But it only lasted as long as the high from the hunt did. “but I think outrider would be better. We are all hunters by nature and the power that knowledge gives is a lingering one.” Power is dangerous. Yet still, the young son of Ragnar found himself wanting for it nevertheless.

feel free to PP phas to conclude - imma hop in one of ur more recent ones or make my own/tag u :D

they moved, two long shadows against the back of the cold night -- besides them the tide breathed out and in and overhead the grim silence of the stars hung uninterrupted. caiaphas cast a cold gaze along the outer rim of the world, inwardly devising a plan to whisk kjalarr away over the next few days in the thick of the night to investigate. for now, they walked. she contemplated the words he had elected to use - power stood out prominently, and she savored the word in the way one might savor sucking the last vestige of marrow from an old bone. "indeed." she confirmed, raising her flute-like muzzle to the sky. "i'll say the word soon," she winked, and with a roll of her shoulders picked up a rippling trot. "but for now, i'm going to go to bed. good night, kjalarr."

Ok! c:

“Good,” Kjalarr murmured softly when Caiaphas ensured him that she could call upon him soon to go on an out-riding mission soon. That, he was very much looking forward to. It had been a long time since Kjalarr had went out on a mission of any kind — any and all plans he'd had of that back in Moonspear had been tarnished and ruined within his first few weeks in their ranks. The events that had separated them could not be undone, and the constant power struggle between the favored of Odin and Ragnar against Charon could not be forgiven nor would Kjalarr apologize for it. The similarity and parallels that Kjalarr were able to draw to it from Thistle's re-account of Ragnar's own telling of his power struggle against his eldest brother Björn only made Kjalarr's cause seem more righteous and made him feel well ...like his father. To know that Ragnar had endured a similar struggle and had come out as the victor and the favorite of the powerful Allfather gave Kjalarr strength and dangerous ideas.

Kjalarr's pace slowed slightly as Caiaphas picked up her's, his icy silvery caribbean gaze following her shadowy form as it moved ahead of him against the light gray of the beach and the darker gray and white of the ocean as it roiled to and fro upon the shore. “Good night.” He called after her, pausing long enough to watch her form disappear in the distance before he adjusted his course and headed inland with the intent of catching himself a midnight snack before he would continue on with his patrols.